Rain turns to ice, turns to sleet when left to its own devices
Drumming down, tapping like fingertip whispers on windowpanes
Drunk with its own sense of importance, it pounds down
Slamming into the ground like a sudden thunderclap
Then beating a steady rhythm until the break of day
The squirrels dart in and out of its shallows, keen eyes
Keen minds waiting for the inevitable lull, then quick
They scamper under cover of tree branches laden with leaves
Nature’s umbrella, from before time began, and they wait
While you stand drenched in the downpour, stock still
As around you black and white swirls into grey
And floats down the gutter, washing away to the river
Where it slams into the sea.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 